


Desire, Devotion, Death

by Lauriarty



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannigraham - Freeform, Hannigram - Freeform, I SWEAR IT WAS ONLY SOME SMUT, M/M, Plot Twists, Sorry Not Sorry, how did it end up like this, it started out as some smut, it was only some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:52:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauriarty/pseuds/Lauriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure torture. That’s just what it is, for the both of them. They are both creatures of suffering, having been so since the beginning. The only difference is that Will endures the suffering, while Hannibal usually provides it.</p><p>They were meant to meet and fill the roles missing from each other’s lives. Though all things come to an end, and unfortunately, time is up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire, Devotion, Death

That first small touch, Hannibal running his hands along Will’s chest and stomach, is something to treasure for eternity. As distant and miniscule as that touched had seemed, it had immediately sent an electric spark in Hannibal. It was the first step to forcing Will into something perfect: exposed, accessible, and entirely at Hannibal’s mercy.

Being able to finally come this close without being questioned or interrupted is somewhat thrilling. He remembers imagining how it would be like to take Will apart like this, to render him so helpless like this. His patience had been absurdly strong as steel, though that had been because this could only happen once. And knowing that no one in the world suspects a thing - that Will had been entirely oblivious to the fact that Hannibal wants to simply _devour_ him - makes everything much more special. Now, he is on the bed and on top of Will, so very close, despite the clothes that still separate them. He breaths in slowly, relishing the various scents: soap, shampoo, aftershave, coffee, blood... things that smell so familiar and so very _Will._ The intimacy is breathtakingly maddening.

Hannibal takes long, lush, careful drags inside of Will, who continues to grope at the sheets, powerless. It’s been going on for what seems like hours now. Every recede emits a ragged, hot, broken cry, groan, or plead from the quivering man beneath. The same goes when Hannibal pushes in once more. It is one of the best games he’s played, he must admit. The thought of this being the last time forever causes a sinking feeling in Hannibal. Still, he continues with the task at hand, relishing every second and every breath.

It is excessively silent in the bedroom other than heavy breathing and the cries; Hannibal could almost hear Will’s heart beat. He can see Will’s throat exposed and vulnerable. Hannibal leans in closer, cloistering Will with his body in a somewhat protective position. The thought of someone even glancing at this man causes a fiery, passionate hate to boil inside Hannibal.

No one can have his Will. No one.

Will stiffens once more, sensing the sudden new intensity and possessive atmosphere. Hannibal almost smirks when Will grips his arm in a desperate hold, as if he would fall somewhere. The grip is not substantial enough to interfere with Hannibal’s work, fortunately, and it seems to take all of Will’s strength to even lift a muscle. It would have been a shame to weaken Will even more.

 _“Fuck.”_ Will gasped for breath. “Hannibal -”

He brings his slightly open mouth to hover on Will’s neck, taking deep breaths.

“Shh,” he soothes encouragingly. “You must try to relax.”

Although he has an abundant patience, Hannibal finds himself unable to avoid the touch any longer. And so he presses his lips lightly against the bare skin, feeling the pulse there gradually begin to quicken pointlessly. Hannibal can’t help but imagine breaking the pale, delicate skin even more than he has already, and he finds himself gently scraping his teeth where it rests. He wants - no, needs - to feel Will’s warm blood trickle down and into Hannibal’s mouth. The need threatens to burn him.

Perhaps later. Now, he is going to attempt to make this worship last as long as possible and to draw it out to the point where it becomes agonizing, simply so both of them will never forget.

Will is incapable of speech, and Hannibal can feel the man tremble violently. He begins to suck a spot on Will’s neck.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Hannibal says, words partly muffled. “Do you have any idea?”

Will manages a painful grunt in response, and then shuts his mouth as if muted suddenly. It’s admirable, how Will continues to keep his dignity. Hannibal can’t help but wrap one arm underneath Will, attempting to bring him even closer. The shirt still worn sticks onto Will’s back, gloriously damp and drenched. He’s so warm, Hannibal notices. Warm and lovely. Hannibal adores it, and he knows he will definitely miss it when that warmth is gone.

Will opens his eyes for a moment, and their eyes meet. Will seems to be in a daze; it’s the same look he has when he is lost in thought about a crime. Eyes soft and in a trance, brow creased in confusion, lips slightly parted, dark hair disheveled. The look suits Will.

It seems to be getting a little more quiet than usual, Hannibal thinks. He takes another breath and sinks deeper as capable into Will’s body, and he immensely enjoys the soft, painful whimpers sounding throughout the room. The bed creaks as Will bucks his hips pleadingly, as if that would grant him some comfort and relief. Will knows better than to try and do more like stand and escape this sublime act, because there is no way now. It’s over, and Will should know that. Hannibal has won, in a way.

It must be almost too much by now. The room is filled with Will’s moans, low, rich, and filled with pain as he thrashes underneath Hannibal's weight. 

“Please,” Will suddenly moans, gritting his teeth. “I can’t take it. It’s too much. It hurts, so much. Please, stop. Make it stop. Please.”

Pure torture. That’s just what it is, for the both of them. They are both creatures of suffering, having been so since the beginning. The only difference is that Will endures the suffering, while Hannibal usually provides it.

They were meant to meet and fill the roles missing from each other’s lives. Though all things come to an end, and unfortunately, time is up.

“All right,” he says with reluctance. “That’s enough.”

With a sigh, Hannibal painstakingly withdraws the knife that had been carving, deconstructing, and stabbing into Will Graham’s abdomen the entire time. Hannibal admires the fresh crimson on the sharp blade.

The only regret Hannibal has is that this had to happen so quickly. Though he really had had no other choice. The moment Will entered his office with knowledge of the secret - the truth - it had already been the end of Will’s life.

As Hannibal straightens up, Will’s body goes even more limp, if that is even possible. His eyes close, mind most likely entering the darkness that would bring him unguaranteed peace. He’s so pale already, surrounded in what looks like buckets of his own blood. The previously white, expensive sheets are now stained scarlet, and the entire thing creates a beautiful image. An artwork.

This - Will Graham - is Hannibal's design. And he is undoubtedly proud of it.


End file.
